


Werewolves and Violins

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Potterlock - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Christmas, Contest Entry, Dreams and Nightmares, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Potterlock, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Slightly graphic descriptions of violence, Student John, Tumblr: fuckyeahteenlock, Werewolf John, Yule Ball, potions professor sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of attending the Yule Ball with the rest of his friends, John goes to Professor Holmes' office to shift for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolves and Violins

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic entry for [fuckyeahteenlock's](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/) Potterlock contest. I hope you guys like it! :)

John is spinning. He is spinning, spinning, spinning around the dance floor with Mary in the circle of his arms smiling up at him. She’s wearing a blue dress as dark as the blue sky above them, covered in sparkles that look like a shimmering blanket of stars. Her laughter is the music they’re dancing to. Everything else is silent.

He looks up and he can see the surrounding crowd over the band of silk on Mary’s shoulder, but everyone around them is a blur. He blinks, trying to get his vision to focalize on them, but his fellow classmates remain just out of focus, smudges of countless colours. There’s a single dark silhouette that stands out against the rest, but he can’t quite see who it is; he and Mary are spinning way too fast. 

It’s like he’s on a merry-go-round, trying to catch a glimpse of his parents waiting in the crowd each time he goes around, just to make sure they haven’t left him. Except it’s not his parents in this crowd. As he and Mary spin and spin, the dark blur starts to focus into the shape of a very different man. 

From somewhere John can’t determine comes a low growl that sends shivers up his spine and makes his hair stand on end. He realizes it’s the only sound in the room, that Mary is no longer laughing, and he looks down to find that she’s no longer in his arms. Suddenly it’s just him spinning around and around in circles in the centre of the dance floor, searching for the familiar silhouette of his Potions teacher. 

“John, focus!” his teacher hisses and the colours in his all-knowing eyes become sharp as broken glass. “We’re losing you! John! You need to focus!” 

Another growl, harsher this time, and the voices in the crowd finally pick up, frantic. Scared. 

John stops, freezing in place while the people around him keep spinning. No... Running. Running and screaming, away from him. The growls are his. 

He looks up and comes face to face with his Potions professor. The man, barely older than John, grabs him by the soft blue velvet of his dress robes. “Focus!” he snaps, then his hand stings across John’s cheek. 

John gasps and sits up in his bed. The room spins for a moment, the ceiling tilting dangerously toward the floor, but then his eyes focus on the dark red curtains surrounding his bed and he’s able to breathe again. He sighs heavily and rubs the sleep from his eyes in agitation as he pulls aside the curtain to get out of bed. He finds Bill sitting on his own bed just outside, doing homework for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. 

Bill glances up at John as he gets tiredly out of his bed and shuffles over to collect some clothes from the chest at the foot of his bed where his Christmas presents wait for him. How had he forgotten it was Christmas? 

“Alright, mate?” Bills asks from behind him. 

John sits on the floor and pulls a present onto his lap. He has the presence of mind to glance around the room before answering and finds that they aren’t alone; Sebastian Moran is lounging on his bed reading from a tattered old Muggle book. Even though his eyes aren’t on John, it still feels like Sebastian’s watching him; it always feels like he’s watching. Him and that friend Jim of his. 

“I‘m not feeling so well,” John tells Bill as he opens one of his three presents. It’s from Mike and his eyes widen when he realizes what it is; Mike’s given him a Lunascope. He’s glad, because now he won’t have to deal with those bloody moon charts to know when he needs to start taking his Wolfsbane potion. 

“But it’s Christmas!” Bill exclaims, closing his book and getting up to investigate John’s presents. John hands Bill the Lunascope as Bill settles on the floor beside him and his friend glances into the lense. 

John opens his chest and digs around in search of the treat box at the bottom. Once he finds it, he reaches inside to grab a specific piece of candy, then he looks toward Sebastin to make sure he isn’t looking before he shoves the box into the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. He quickly bites off the green part of the fudge and shoves it into the open box in his pocket so it doesn’t melt into the fabric. By the time he looks at Bill again, he’s already sweating. 

“I think I’ve got a fever,” he tells his friend. 

Bill looks up from the Lunascope and his brown eyes widen when he gets a look at John’s face. “Woah, mate, you don’t look so hot!” he says, looking concerned. He reaches over and lays the back of his hand across John’s forehead and his frown sinks even further. “Merlin! You’re boiling up! I think you should go to the nurse!” 

John shakes his head but quickly has to stop, because it makes his stomach lurch. “I think some more sleep will help,” he tells his friend as he shreds open the second present, which is from Greg. Inside he finds a pack of Exploding Snap Cards and he smiles, remembering his and Greg's deal that whoever lost the next round would have to lose an eyebrow. 

“You sure? I could ask one of the nurses-” 

“I’m sure, Bill,” John says reassuringly, making direct eye contact with his friend before flicking his gaze to the Lunascope still in his friend’s hand. Bill follows his gaze and his eyes widen in realization. “Alright,” he nods, handing the Lunascope to John. “I believe you.” 

John feels suddenly faint, so he wastes no time in ripping open the remaining present from Bill. It’s the book ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’. John has been wanting to borrow the book from the library for quite a while now, but every time he tries, it’s already checked out. He flips through it and the fanning pages gust a nice, cool breeze across his burning face. “Thanks, Bill!” he says, reaching over and thunking his friend on the back. “Did you open the present from me, yet?” 

Bill grins his 1000 watt smile at him. “Oh yeah!” he says, sounding way too excited. 

John laughs. “Just don’t go using that Dungbomb around me or it will be the last thing you ever do!” 

Bill chuckles and John stores his gifts away in his chest. He pulls himself up using the chest and returns to his bed to flop down face first. He feels like he’s the centre of a volcano, burning up from the inside out. 

John hears Bill return to his bed to do his holiday homework, but a moment later his friend asks, “do you think you’ll be alright in time for the Yule Ball?” 

John smiles into his pillow, relieved by his friends acting skills. “Honestly? Doesn’t feel like it,” he mumbles. Worrying the inside of his cheek, he swipes his forearm across the perspiration on his forehead, then settles back down on his too-hot pillow. “Think you can tell Mary for me?” he asks, glancing over at his friend. 

Bill’s mouth falls open, ready to complain, but he quickly clamps it closed and nods. “Sure,” he says. John hears the familiar sound of Bill’s school book closing and the creak of his bed as he stands. “I’m sorry, mate,” Bill tells him as he heads out the door. 

“Me, too,” John sighs into his pillow, envisioning Mary’s disappointment. He knows how much she’s been looking forward to tonight. He’s known for weeks now that he wouldn’t be able to go to the Yule Ball, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Mary, because then she’d ask why and he isn’t ready to take that step with her. They aren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend, yet, and the truth is that John isn’t even sure he wants them to be. 

More often than not these days, John’s thoughts shift to someone that is definitely not Mary. As he pulls the blanket up over his head and eats the brown cure side of the Fever Fudge, his thoughts once again take that turn and John closes his eyes to pass the time until he can see him. 

Later that day, after going back to sleep and doing some homework, John grabs the wrapped present from inside his chest then creeps out of his room into the empty halls. From the top stairs of the Gryffindor tower, he can hear the music drifting up from the Great Hall and he feels so apart from it all, like he’s standing alone at the top of a mountain. 

With a sigh, he takes the stairs down on his way to Mr. Holmes’ office, and the sound of his fellow schoolmates’ enjoyment only gets louder while his lone footfalls blend into the music. 

He has to duck into a doorway as a couple sneaking away from the dance comes his way, but he goes unnoticed as their sole focus is each other. Once their dresses and giggles finally disappear around a corner, John is able to hurry the rest of the way down to the basement. 

When he reaches the door to his Potions professor’s office, it creaks open before he even has the chance to knock. Sparing a quick glance around, John slips inside, unnoticed by all but the man waiting inside. 

“Hello, John,” Professor Holmes greets him as John leans against the inside of the wooden door. He smiles at John from his desk where he looks to be grading papers with his scarlet Phoenix-feather quill. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Hello, sir,” John says, taking in the sight of the young teacher behind his desk. Sherlock Holmes is just shy of 26 years old and he looks even younger. He has a head of dark curls barely lighter than the black of his suit and blue eyes that reflect color like rain. He is the most intelligent person John has ever known and the only person who’s ever seen him shift. 

John pushes off the door and crosses the room to his teacher’s desk, fiddling with the dark blue ribbon on top of the present in his hands. He sets it down on the desk in front of Sherlock with a warm smile. “Merry Christmas.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widen fractionally, but he catches himself quickly and schools his expression into a pleased smile. He hesitates a moment before he reaches out for the tightly wrapped present and meets John’s eyes. “Thank you,” he says, sounding slightly unsure of himself. 

John chuckles, a wave of relief washing over him at knowing he isn’t the only one that feels a little awkward here. “You haven’t even seen it yet.” 

His Potions professor eyes him curiously as he unties the ribbon. His thin fingers carefully peel away the light blue pinstripe paper to get to the gift inside. A smile presses up the corners of his teacher’s lips when he gets to the treasure inside. “John, how were you able to afford these?” Sherlock asks as he holds up the omnioculars in front of him. He lifts them to his eyes and John blushes when his teacher focuses them on him. 

“Saving,” John explains. “I’ve never been much of a spender. I wanted you to have them.” 

Sherlock smiles. “Actually, I got you something, as well,” his professor says, handing the omnioculars over to John so he can reach inside one of his desk drawers. John glances into the eyesights and watches as his own cheeks grow noticeably pink over and over again. 

“Here.” 

John lowers the omnioculars and sees the present his teacher’s holding out to him. They make a trade and John tries to open the gift with care, but he knows his fingers don’t look half as elegant as his teacher’s. “Professor-” 

“Sherlock,” his teacher reminds him, probably for the 100th time. 

“This is a Sneakoscope, isn’t it?” John asks, awed as he studies the item that looks a bit like a spinning top. It’s nothing like the brightly coloured ones he’s seen before in stores, but it’s got similar features. This one has a glass top and the bottom piece is silver instead of plastic and has arabesque designs carved into it. Looking close, John can see roses, leaves, and skulls all intertwined on the cold metal. “I can’t possibly take this,” he breathes. He tries to offer it back to his teacher, but Sherlock shakes his head at him. 

“It didn’t cost me anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sherlock says, crumpling all the wrapping paper into a ball and tossing it into the trash can where it immediately disappears upon landing. “I found it in the Room of Hidden Things. I thought you could make good use of it, considering your knack for finding trouble,” his teacher says in amusement. 

“If the rumours are true, I’m not the only one who enjoys their fair share,” John says, smiling at his teacher. Sherlock smiles back at him and lifts the omnioculars up between them. 

“Can I record your shift?” he asks, peering through the eyesights again. John can’t tell if he’s recording him now or rewatching John’s cheeks as they blushed. 

John’s smile falters and he turns away, smoothing his thumb over the engravings on the Sneakoscope. “What for?” 

“Research,” Sherlock says. “I recently read a Muggle study that classical music has a calming effect on dogs-” 

John turns a glare on his teacher and Sherlock sighs heavily. 

“You know what I mean, John. I want to see if it has a similar effect on werewolves. If that’s the case, perhaps one day we may be able to completely eradicate the need for your beloved Wolfsbane Potion.” 

Reminded of the potion, John goes to the window where the amethyst bottle usually waits for him. He picks it up and glances up at the darkening sky before quickly uncorking it. John frowns as the faint cloud of blue smoke expels from the mouth of the open bottle, then he plugs his nose with one hand and raises the bottle to his lips with the other. With a grimace, John threw the potion back and immediately shuddered as the thick liquid slithered down his throat. 

“Merlin, I hate this stuff!” John gags, thunking the bottle down on the desk with a bang. He has to swallow several times to keep the potion from coming back up. Long after it’s down, the taste lingers on his tongue and the feeling of the liquid remains heavy in his chest. 

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Sherlock asks, not even pretending to be interested in grading essays anymore, though his quill is posed over an essay that already has sharp markings on the margins. 

John sighs. “Fine,” he gives in. “But I don’t want you showing anyone else,” he warns his teacher. 

“I know, John. Why else would you come sneaking into my classroom every full moon?” 

John casts his eyes away, knowing his teacher will see the flush on the back of his neck all the same. His teacher rarely misses a thing. “I can’t sleep in the woods,” John admits. “I can’t sleep anywhere else when I’m shifted.” 

After a beat, his teacher says, “I know.” 

John looks up at the soft tone in his teacher’s voice and meets Sherlock’s light blue eyes. Since the night of John’s attack, he’s often remembered the sight of his teacher’s eyes when he’d come to John’s aid. There was something very vulnerable in them then and he can see the same vulnerability in them now. It’s times like these when he believes the rumours that his Potions professor doesn’t have friends. 

“What else do you know about me, Mr. Holmes?” John asks, taking on a playful tone. If anyone else were around, they would say he’s flirting, but his Potions professor has an amazing way of not noticing or pretending like he doesn’t. 

Now, though, Sherlock chuckles and places his Phoenix quill in its holder before rising from his chair. He looks down at John, standing incredibly close, and smiles a slightly off-kilter smile that made him look both very young and older than his years. “I know that you should be shifting any minute now,” his teacher says, his breath ghosting across the crest of John’s ear. He’s practically pressed to John’s chest as he leans down and says, “and that you aren’t nearly as boring as I originally perceived you to be.” 

“You thought I was boring?” 

“Your short stature and sand coloured hair make you a very easy person to overlook. Initially, you come across as fairly ordinary,” Sherlock says. “However, upon further inspection, I discovered that there were a lot of details I missed at first glance and the truth is that you are anything but ordinary.” 

John frowns. “Was that a compliment?” 

Sherlock frowns down at him, perhaps just realizing how his words sounded. “Yes.” 

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Holmes?” 

“Not if you keep calling me that.” 

John smiles up at his teacher, preparing to push this thing as far as he could, but his face quickly crumples into a grimace as the bones in his body begin to shift. He clenches his jaw and drops to his knees. "If you're going to record this, you better start now!" 

Sherlock eyes fly open and he scrambles quickly for his omnioculars to begin his experiment. 

John is running. He is running, running, running so fast his feet are a blur above the uneven terrain of the forest floor. The world around him is bouncing shadows and glimpses of light from the full moon through the sky-reaching trees. All he can hear are his and Bill’s panting breaths and their feet like thunder on the hard packed earth. 

He realizes there’s something off about the forest sounds; something he’s missing. 

“Wait!” he calls to Bill as his feet skid to a halt in the rocks and dirt. He turns around, his eyes searching the shadows frantically, and a sense of horror washes over him like ice water when he realizes what’s wrong here. His gasping breaths stutter in his chest. “Where’s Mike?” 

Bill’s eyes grew as full as the moon as their gazes caught. “Oh gods…” he breathes. 

John starts running as fast as he can in the direction they just came. He breathes in deeply through his nose and exhales in a steady stream through his mouth, trying to steady his racing heartbeat, trying not to panic. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he’s faced with the beast; his wand is long gone somewhere in the woods from their initial encounter with it. 

“Mike!” Bill shouts, running along beside him. His usually handsome face is crumpled with fear and there’s sweat and tears glistening in the weary slopes beneath his eyes. “Call out, Mike!” 

“I’m over here! Help! I can’t run any longer!” The cry rings out from the darkness and John turns immediately toward it. 

A whimper of exertion and worry keens from his throat as he starts knocking tree branches out of his way. He can feel the rough bark slice his skin, but he’s got to get to Mike. He’s got to, he’s got to, he’s got to. 

John bursts through the thicket of trees into a wide, open space just in time to see Mike’s tired legs give out from beneath him and his broken Alder wand skitter across the dirt. The Hufflepuff turns quickly over and scrambles backward, away from the werewolf running toward him. 

“Mike!” John cries out, running toward his friend. He throws himself bodily in front of the vicious beast and the impact sends him crashing back against a tree trunk. His head slams into the wood and his vision whites out from the pain. He barely feels it as the beast’s jaws clamp down on his shoulder. He does hear his screams, though, and a loud ringing sound coming from Merlin knows where. 

Suddenly the claws digging into his arms are wrenched away and the weight bearing down on his chest is gone. He blinks his eyes, trying to make the three blurry silhouettes become one. His vision is fuzzy, but he swears… 

“Professor Holmes?” he slurs. 

John blinks again and he’s laying on the grey wool blanket in front of the fireplace again. His skin is amazingly warm from the hissing flames and his body feels completely lax. He looks down and sees that his arms still end in paws and they’re covered in coarse, sandy fur. 

That’s when he hears the sound of the violin. He glances over toward his teacher’s desk where Sherlock stands, cradling his violin in his arms. The unicorn hair of his violin bow shimmers in the moonlight streaming in through the window. 

“I just started to play,” Sherlock explains, the sound of his violin like a loving caress. “Go back to sleep, John. You’re safe now.” 

John watches his teacher stroke the violin with all the tenderness in the world until eventually his heavy eyelids sink closed and he falls into a peaceful, all-consuming dream where it’s just him and Sherlock drifting, drifting, drifting around a dance floor.

**Author's Note:**

> I would very much appreciate you letting me know what you think of this if you have the time! :)
> 
> If you would like to follow me on tumblr, [here](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) I am!


End file.
